“Well, then, Estelle is a pretty name. Shall I call her Estelle?”
Ratcliff started, came close up to Mrs. Gentry, looked her steadily in the face, and asked, “What put that name into your head?”
“I don’t know. Probably I have seen it in some novel.”
“Well, don’t call her Estelle. Call her Ellen Murray.”
“I will remember.”
And the interview closed.
After the gentleman had gone, the child, with an anxious and grieved expression of face, tried to articulate an inquiry which Mrs. Gentry found it difficult to understand. At last she concluded it was an attempt to say, “Where’s Hatty?”
Mrs. Gentry rang the bell, and it was answered by a colored woman of large, stately figure, whose peculiar hue and straight black hair showed that she was descended from some tribe distinct from ordinary Africans.
“Where’s the chambermaid?” asked Mrs. Gentry.
“O missis, dat Deely’s neber on de spot when she’s wanted. De Lord lub us, what hab we here?”